


Wayfaring Strangers

by thehyades



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon is VERY optional yeah?, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, but i just love them and now i'm crying, idc im rewriting the second half of the film
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22830466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehyades/pseuds/thehyades
Summary: AU Fix-it.In which Blake and Schofield make it to the Second Devons together. In which everything is bitter yet sweet like dark chocolate.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 45
Kudos: 352





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i watched 1917 at the cinema last monday and i couldn't handle blake's death??? so this bloody fic spilled out of me??? fyi, in this au lauri and the baby scho meets in that basement room aren't there. they left a week before april 6th. psa, chapter gets a bit smutty near the end so watch out. (and the title is taken from the film, 'i am a poor wayfaring stranger' jos slovick sang so perfectly)
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own 1917 or any of the characters, i'm just sad about the film and this is me dealing with it so leave me alone u greedy corporations
> 
> okay i'll shut up now x

_I know dark clouds will gather round me  
_ _I know my way is rough and steep  
_ _But golden fields lie just before me  
_ _Where God's redeemed shall ever sleep._

**APRIL 6th, 1917**

**ON AN** abandoned farm in the French countryside, an airplane burns in the wreckage of an old barn and a little down the slight slope, a pair of English soldiers scramble save to its German pilot.

Schofield watches as the man writhes in pain. He presses his mouth into a fine line before speaking. His words are gentle, “we should put him out of his misery.”

“No,” Blake’s reply is curt, not daring to consider such a morbid option. He points to the grimy well about ten feet behind Scho, “get him some water! He needs water!”

He doesn’t miss the uncertain look Scho throws at him before he gets up and rushes to the well. Surviving the Somme has shrouded Scho’s outlook on life, he seems hellbent on wandering into its every shadow. The smell of burning wood and singed flesh carries in the spring wind, it makes him cough and splutter and knots his stomach so tightly he’s sure he is only moments from vomiting. 

“It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay,” Blake murmurs, repeating it again and again, whether or not he’s trying to convince the German or himself is unclear. He places a hand on the man’s chest. “We’re getting you some water.”

The German says something but it’s lost in a fit of coughs. 

“What?” Blake says, his thoughts running a mile a minute. 

They need to get water on the German's burns, the sight of the smoke drifting from his thighs brings bile up Blake's throat. Behind them, he can hear the creaking pump of the well as Scho fights to fill it up as quickly as possible. The German waves a feeble hand for Blake to come closer. He shuffles towards him so he’s hovering over his face now. The man says it again, Blake catches something that might be _hell_ or _help_ but his German is rusty and--

The deafening sound of a gunshot booms in the cold afternoon. Blake jumps away from the German as a bullet slices into the man's chest, just an inch from where he had placed his hand. Another shot and this one lands in the man's stomach, his body shakes from the impact. Blake grabs his rifle as he looks around frantically, his heart in his throat as he tries to catch sight of the enemy. In the house? Another German pilot come to rescue his fellow soldier? But he can't see anyone, there's only…

...Schofield. 

Scho stands a few away, his face pinched in concentration as he points his rifle at the German. 

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Blake shouts, shooting quick glances between Scho and the German. 

Scho keeps his rifle raised, aimed squarely at the man's head now, as he walks slowly towards them. 

"Stop!" Blake shouts again but Scho shows no signs of listening.

Blake gets up and stumbles over to the German, he shoves his hands over the bullet wounds in his chest. It's too much. He's bleeding too much. Blake closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for the sight because he knows it will plague his dreams for months to come, and looks at the German's face. It's ashen, so pale it’s as if all the colour has been drained from him. His mouth is parted and his eyes, dark brown and unseeing, stare up at the greying skies. 

Blake grits his teeth, pushes himself up and turns to glare at Scho who is still pointing that bloody rifle! 

"He's dead!" Blake snaps, pushing Scho's rifle to the side, "what's wrong with you? He would've lived--"

"No, he wouldn't and neither would you!" Scho snaps back, his blue eyes blaze with anger and panic. 

Blake blinks up at the taller man, “what...what are you talking about?”

Scho places a hand on his shoulder and spins him around to face the dead German. 

“There,” Scho points to the knife lying not far from the man’s left hand, “he was about to stab you. I looked back for a second to check and I saw him pull out a knife from his boot and I...I…” his grip on Blake’s shoulder tightens, “...I had to.”

Shocked, Blake stares at the knife. He had been kneeling right by it, if the German had been quicker or if Scho hadn’t looked back in time that knife would have gutted him right in the belly. Blake swallows the lump forming in his throat as his gaze, wide and unblinking, remains on the corpse. Death missed him by a millimetre today. He was only trying to save the man’s life and he would have been repaid with a knife in his gut.

“Blake,” Scho says quietly, solemnly, breaking him free of his stupor, “Blake, I..I had to. It was the only--”

“I know,” Blake tells him in a soft voice. 

He turns then, takes one step towards Scho and drops his forehead on his shoulder. A bone deep fatigue settles into him and he doesn’t think he can ever sleep this kind of tired off. It may be a part of him.

He wants to try though. He wants to be in his own bed, warm and safe and falling asleep to his mother’s lovely singing as she wanders through the orchard in their garden. He wants many things and this endless war has eaten up many of those things. 

“Scho,” Blake whispers, wondering why Scho hasn’t gotten the hint and hugged him yet. He frowns when he feels Scho suddenly tense. 

Normally, when he drops his head on Scho’s shoulder like this, he will be enveloped in a tight hug seconds later. Scho will press a soft kiss to his neck and murmur sweetness into his ear until Blake doesn’t feel like the world isn’t about to eat him whole. He needs that now. 

“Scho,” Blake whispers again. 

“Blake,” Scho whispers back, something close to fear lacing his voice.

Blake freezes. Is the German alive? He lifts his head and spins around, blindly patting himself for his rifle when he remembers he threw it to the side when they pulled the German out of the plane. 

To his surprise and equal relief, it’s a pair of British soldiers holding their rifles as they stare at them. One is too tall, resembling a giant in this deserted landscape and the other is probably average height but he looks like a dwarf in comparison. 

“You alright, lads?” The shorter boy asks.

Oh, God. Did they see them? But they weren’t doing anything inappropriate, he just had his head on his shoulder. No, no. He’s being paranoid. It would have been a different story if Scho had embraced him like he usually does.

The taller one gestures to the scene next to Blake and Schofield. The dead German and the burning plane under a ruined barn. “Jesus,” he says, “what happened to him?” 

“Was it the plane?” The shorter one asks, “we saw the smoke.”

Blake is still too shell shocked to reply. The blood from the German’s chest drips down his fingers onto the ground. Scho steps in front of him and says, “yes, it was.”

Another person appears from the side of the house closest to the river. It’s an older man, a captain guessing by his uniform. He’s tall, bald and broad-shouldered, wearing a serious expression and carrying a cane.

He walks over to them slowly like it’s a lovely Sunday morning in Hyde Park and not the heartland of the greatest war in history. He comes to a stop before the corpse, glances down at it for a moment before turning that serious expression on Schofield and Blake.

His voice is impossibly deep when he speaks, “what are you doing here?”

“We have an urgent message for the Second Devons,” Scho says with a sniff, “orders to stop tomorrow mornings attack.”

“And where are they stationed?” 

“Just beyond Ecoust.”

The older man’s eyes flit to Blake then Scho. Blake can see the gears turning his head as he mulls over the information. He seems to come to his decision because he nods and raises his cane. 

“Come with me,” he says and turns away to head towards the house. He points to the boys, “you two, go and fetch their things.”

The boys nod and hurry up to the barn to grab all the belongings they dropped in the crash. Schofield and Blake look at each other. Blake could never hide his thoughts or feelings so whatever is playing on his face must be worrying because Scho glances around, checking if the boys or the officer are watching, and hooks his pinky finger with Blake’s. It means, _I'm here_ , _I'll always be here._

It’s a reckless and dangerously stupid gesture but, dear Lord, Blake loves him for it. It takes him a second to catch that feeling and truly recognise it for what it is. Deep, irrevocable love, the kind that is futile to ever recover from. Somehow, it’s crept up on him. In the six or so months since meeting William Schofield that small crush, the one he was sure would pass in a week, has snowballed into _this_ \-- _this_ breathtaking adoration. 

Blake meets his gaze and seriously considers kissing him, then and there in front of everyone even if the price is execution or prison. Luckily, Scho unhooks their pinky fingers before Blake can do such a stupid thing. 

The Captain pauses by the double doors that lead back into the dingy house and glances back at them. 

“Come with me, corporals,” he says, his deep voice rings out in the late afternoon, “it’s an order. We’re passing through Ecoust, we can take you some of the way.”

“Sir.” Schofield and Blake say with curt nods. 

The other boys hold out their things for them. Blake grabs his rifle, hoists the strap on his shoulder and takes his hat from the taller boy. He pulls it on at the same time as Scho and wipes his bloody hands down his trousers. He wants to go down to the river and wash them clean of any blood and grime but there isn’t time. They have to get to the Second Devons. He has to find his brother. God. Joe. He’s going to walk into a massacre. 

Blake takes a deep breath and walks down to the house with Scho closely following behind. They walk through the dark house, Blake glances around at that broken furniture and the layers of dirt that coat every surface. Once, this was a home and now it's a carcass. They emerge in daylight to find a tree blocking the country path and an annoyed senior officer in a car demanding for it to be moved immediately. 

The Captain tells them to sit in the casual’s truck about five cars behind. On the short walk there, Scho and the Captain discuss his regiment’s attempt to go up to the new line but Blake isn’t listening. His mind is back there, back with the dead German and the barn in flames.

They stop at the last truck and the Captain glances at Blake, that serious expression has morphed, changed into something that could be considered sympathetic. 

The Captain says, “may I tell you something you probably already know?”

Blake shifts the strap of his rifle around his shoulder and waits. His face must be ashen and the Captain can read just how shaken he is by his brush with death. He doesn't know why this one has frightened him so, he’s almost died a thousand times since arriving at the frontline. Just two hours ago a cave collapsed atop him and Scho. 

“It doesn’t do to dwell on it,” The Captain says, jutting his chin down.

His underlying message is clear. _Focus on surviving. Anyone expecting death usually finds it._

Blake clears his throat, “no, sir, it...it doesn’t.”

Seeming satisfied the Captain nods and pats Blake’s shoulder, “hop on.”

About a dozen other boys are stuffed into the truck, their fatigued faces mirror Blake's. Scho climbs into the truck first and reaches a hand down for him. He takes it and Scho hauls him up, his thumb briefly grazing Blake's knuckles, sending a flurry of butterflies through his stomach. Their eyes meet, blue and deeper blue, reality seems to freeze like a faulty record player. He almost died today. Scho's hand is rough and warm against his own. Blake wants it on his cheek, sliding down his neck, down his chest and --

"Oi!" An annoyed voice snaps. 

Schofield and Blake rip their hands apart and glance down at a disgruntled boy with red hair.

"What you standing there for?" He demands, "get a bloody move on!"

"Oh, sorry," Blake mumbles and circles Scho, he lets him sit down first and he sits opposite him. 

Blake is itching to embrace him and if they sit close and if their thighs even touch Blake will damn them both and kiss Scho senseless. The rest of the boys pile in and the truck starts moving along the bumpy road. It fills with chatter as the boys take turns imitating their senior officer. Blake can feel Scho's gaze on him but he can't look at him. He keeps his eyes on the serene countryside, marred by years of war and lets the conversation wash over him.

The last time his feelings for Scho boiled over like this and became this crushingly intense, like his hammering heart was seconds away from beating right out of his chest, Corporal Huxley nearly caught Blake on his knees with Scho in his mouth. It had been on their joint leave in some pretty French town that hadn’t been touched by the war yet.

He was so sure they were done for but it turned out Huxley had been drunk out of his mind and ended up passing out right outside their door. Scho had to climb out of the window, hop down onto the dark alleyway and walk back into the quaint little hotel they had been staying in. 

It’s been two months since then. He bites his lip. It’s near impossible to get any private time in the trenches so all they have managed are fleeting touches here and there, and quick kisses in the cover of darkness. 

The truck jolts, sending the boys crashing into each other. The boy sitting next to Scho frowns, “Arsehole needs driving lessons.”

Cars honk and people shout in the distance. Scho climbs out with Blake following closely behind. Blake swears when he sees the wheel is stuck in the mud. 

“We should reverse,” Scho says, glancing at the boy with the metal rings in his hat. The boy says _yeah_ in response but he’s busy stuffing his face with whatever is in his hands. 

Blake frowns at everyone just standing around like idiots as Scho marches up to the driver tells him to reverse. 

When that doesn’t work, Blake throws his rifle in the truck and shouts, “everyone needs to get out! All of you need to get out!” No one moves. “C’MON!” 

Someone tells him to keep his hair on but the rest do step out. They try to push the truck out of the mud but not enough people are helping. This is taking too bloody long. 

He looks around at everyone, “Come and help!”

Scho screams as they try to push the truck again but it doesn’t budge. 

“Please!” Blake stares at them, panic claws at his chest as he imagines his brother running into the German’s trap.“We need to leave! We have orders! Please!”

They all stare back. The redhead chucks his cigarette into the mud and says, “alright, c’mon lads, _c’mon._ ”

Everyone crowds around the truck and they _push and push and_ finally _,_ the truck roars to life, splattering flecks of mud on them, and drives out of the mud. A few boys cheer and clap. Blake struggles to catch his breath as Scho orders everyone back in the truck. 

The Indian glances at Blake, concern plays out in his dark eyes. He says, “are you alright?”

Blake nods, “yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

They all clamber back into the truck. Blake sits opposite Scho again because he doesn’t trust himself. He grips his rifle to stop himself from reaching over and touching Scho’s thigh. The car moves again, turning onto a drier path where an upturned tree lies in the back. 

“So, where are you going?” The Indian asks, glancing between Blake and Scho.

Blake answers, “To the Second Devons, they’re stationed near Ecoust.”

“Why?”

“The Germans retreated, Colonel McKenzie’s convinced he has ‘em on the run and he has the Second Devons ready to attack at dawn,” Blake says, feeling Scho’s eyes on him again. He grips his rifle tighter. “We’ve got orders to stop ‘em.”

“How come?” Asks a boy with a Brummie accent.

“They’re walking into a trap,” Scho replies. 

Blake looks out at the road. 

“How many?” The redhead asks.

“Sixteen hundred men,” Scho says. 

The boy with the metal-ringed hat frowns, “you’ll never make it.”

Blake stiffens and turns to look at him. “We will.”

The boy next to Blake offers him a bottle of whiskey. Blake shakes his head, he needs to keep a clean head. Scho takes it with a tired _thank you_ and downs a quick swig. He passes it back as one of the boys comments on the dead cows littering the fields. The more days that pass, the more Blake realises how pointless this war is. Countless lives, possibly his brother’s if they don’t get there in time, have been lost to this worthless war. 

The car stops and Blake groans, wondering what it could be this time.

Someone says, “not another bloody tree!”

“Bridge’s down,” the driver tells them.

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

“We gotta get out here then,” Blake says, slipping the strap of his rifle back onto his shoulder. He stands up and hops out of the truck.

“Good luck,” Scho says as he stands up too and glances back at them.

“Keep some of the luck for yourself pal,” a Scottish boy says, “you’ll be needing it.”

The rest of the boys wish them luck too, one with the metal-ringed hat tells them not to balls it up. Blake scoffs. They won’t. They can’t.

Blake glances up to find the Indian boy looking at him, the concern is back in his eyes and his voice is sombre when he says, “good luck.”

“Thank you,” Blake says with a nod.

They turn, walking towards a broken bridge that’s sunk into the river. The Captain marches up to them, “the next bridge is six miles, we’ll have to divert.”

“Sir, we can’t,” Blake says, “we don’t have the time.”

The Captain blinks in surprise before nodding as if remembering the bleakness of their orders. “Of course,” he holds his hand out, “best of luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” Scho says as he takes it. 

He turns to Blake who gives it a firm shake. “Thank you, sir.”

He eyes the sunken bridge as he calculates how exactly they’re going to cross it.

The Captain turns around, pauses and walks back to them. “Corporals, if you do get to Colonel Mackenzie make sure there are witnesses.”

Blake frowns, confused, “we’ve got direct orders, sir.”

“I know,” he says, “but some men just want the fight.”

It’s a disturbing thought and he prays to God it won’t come to that. Schofield and Blake nod in unison. 

“Thank you, sir,” Scho says.

The Captain gives them one last nod before turning around and shouting for the driver to keep going. Scho glances at Blake with a pursed mouth. Blake looks away before he grabs him by the collar and kisses that worried look away. Dear Lord, what is wrong with him? They are on a race against time to save sixteen hundred men from a disastrous attack and half his mind is occupied with the shape of William Schofield’s mouth.

“C’mon,” Blake says, marching to the bridge and the ruined town that lays beyond it.

They keep their steps careful and slow as they descend closer to the black waters. Blake’s eyes dart around, looking for any snipers or hidden soldiers. Scho climbs up onto the railing. Blake pauses to shift the strap of his rifle across his chest and follows suit. They bring their arms to help with balance as they take slow steps across the metal railing.

“I...I don’t understand,” Scho says, throwing a quick glance back at Blake, “are you angry with me?”

Blake opens his mouth and a shot pierces the water.

“Shit, jump!” He hisses. 

There’s a gap where the bridge split in half and collapsed into the river. Scho jumps onto the other half of the railing and Blake does the same. Another shot. They scramble onto the side of the railing, ducking and swearing with each shot as they try to get across as quickly as possible. They jump onto the stony bank under the bridge, pause to take out their rifles and head up the steep stairs in the corner. More shots. They plaster themselves against the wall of the stairs, Scho breathes in, darts up and fires a few shots into the open window of the large building that overlooks the river. 

He crouches back down as he cocks his rifle and shakes his head. “It’s no use,” he says, “I have to go in. Cover me.”

Blake’s eyes widen, “What--”

Scho stands back up, jogs up the stairs as he shoots into the window. 

“Scho!” Blake shouts, fear wrapping around his heart like a vice as he watches him run towards the building. 

He swears, aims and shoots at the window to make sure the sniper doesn’t hit Scho. When he finishes off his round, he runs after him. He thought this war or that bloody German pilot would be the death of him but no, it turns out it’s going to be William Schofield. He kicks the double doors open, pointing his rifle left and right for any soldiers on the ground floor and hurries up the stairs.

A horrible bang sounds and Blake shouts Scho’s name again as he runs, begging his legs to go faster. Six months at war and he isn't any fitter. He makes it in time to see Scho’s hat knocked off as he tumbles down the stairs and bang his head against the wall at the bottom. 

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no --_

“Scho!” He falls to his knees and starts shaking his shoulder. Please, God, Please. “Scho! Scho--”

He freezes at the sight of blood trickling across the floor. _No, no, no, no._ He feels sick to the stomach. Scared, he slides a hand under Scho’s head and whimpers, his heart sinking, at the wet touch of blood. He freezes once more. Shit. That sniper. He stands up, turns around with his rifle pointed and walks up to the room. The door is wide open and to his relief, the German sniper lies dead on the floor. 

Blake hurries back down to Scho, tears start welling up as he kneels by his side. He leans down and cups Scho’s face. 

“Scho, _please_ ,” he whispers. 

Nothing. He places a finger under Scho’s nose to check for -- breath! His eyes widen. He’s breathing! He’s still alive. Blake drops his head onto Scho’s chest and lets out a light breath. 

“Scho, wake up,” he mutters, “we have to go.”

Nothing, then, a quiet groan, so quiet Blake would think he imagined it until another groan sounds. Blake looks up. Scho’s eyes are flitting left and right under his eyelids. 

Blake shakes him, “Scho, _Scho_.”

The flitting stops and he goes quiet and deathly still again. Blake quickly checks his breath and sighs in relief when he feels a gust of air come out. He’s just a little dazed, Blake tells himself, he’ll wake up soon and they’ll keep going. They’re so close to Ecoust now. 

He places his rifle by the railing and moves around so he’s sitting against the wall. He pulls Scho’s head into his lap and rummages through his pockets for spare cloths he uses to carefully dab away the blood. When he’s done, he leans over for his rifle and points it up at the open door in case the German isn’t really dead. He better be dead.

His watch is broken so he can’t tell the time but he keeps track with every darkening shade of the sky. Hours pass, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the evening sky a brilliant, blazing red, and Blake is still sitting on the stairs with Scho’s head in his lap. Heavy coils of worry snake through his stomach. The night is near and Scho is yet to wake up but he can’t bring himself to leave him.

“Scho,” he whispers, “wake up, we need to keep moving.”

No reply, Scho remains passed out in his lap. He’s stopped bleeding at least. Blake wipes Scho’s dark, wavy hair off his forehead. He looks so peaceful. 

“I’m not angry with you,” he says, stroking his cheek. The confession pushes out of him, “I think I’m in love with you.”

He realised it on that farm when Scho hooked his pinky finger with his and he let it digest on that truck ride here. Now, he feels like the weight on his shoulders has lifted a little, just enough for him to breathe. 

He'll have to leave if Scho doesn't wake up soon, he's already lost hours waiting for him. He leans his head back on the wall. Every time he tries to even stand up he slumps back down again. His body won't allow him to leave Scho. He should be safe in this building. 

_I'll come back for him_ , he tells himself but he only clutches Scho tighter. The tears he's been holding back stream down his cheeks. The Second Devons are so close. If he leaves now and delivers the message, he can come back with a few soldiers to get Scho to an aid post but _he can't._ His legs won't let him. His heart will stop if he does.

"Scho," he whispers, "please come back to me."

Blake weeps. He weeps for Scho, lying unconscious in his lap, for his brother, for every man in the Second Devons about to be massacred because he's so sickly in love he can't fucking move. Blake weeps and the world darkens. 

He dozes off at some point, dreaming of the German pilot and the plane that never stops crashing. His sleep shatters when movement in his lap jolts him awake. Scho groans as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. He looks around and scrambles to get up on his knees, freezing when he sees Blake.

Blake’s heart drums wildly in his chest.

Scho says, “Blake?”

He gets up and shuffles over to Scho, pulling him in for a tight hug. He tucks his chin on Scho’s shoulder and shudders, “thank God. Oh, thank God. You scared me, I thought--”

Scho rubs his back and whispers gently, “it’s okay, I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Blake pulls back and stares at him, not quite believing he really is here. Scho scans his face, he touches Blake’s cheek with the back of his fingers and says, “have you been crying?”

Blake frowns, knocking his hand away and pushes him back. Scho grabs the railing to stop himself from falling. 

“Schofield. Don’t you ever run off like that again!” He hisses, wiping away at his tears with the back of his hand, “I oughta kill you myself!”

Scho raises his hands, “it was the only way to get rid of the sniper. I--”

“I know, you had to,” he snaps, “how about you consult me first before you do stupid shit like that again?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Scho says like he’s talking to a wounded animal, “I will.”

Blake grits his teeth, turns around and grabs Scho’s rifle. He passes it to him and grabs his own off the railing. 

“Let’s go,” he says, heading down the stairs, “we’ve lost hours.”

“Hours?” Scho says, running after him. “Why didn’t you leave me? You should have left!”

Blake spins around in the doorway and Scho freezes in his footsteps. “I couldn’t! You really think I could leave you? I…” he swallows, feeling the tears threatening to return, “I tried but my legs wouldn’t work. It was impossible and--” he sniffs and walks out of the building into the dark night, “you’re okay now, so we can get going. We’re not far now.”

Outside, the ruined town has transformed into a nightmarish hellscape of long shadows and whistling, dazzling flares in the black sky. Schofield and Blake walk down the wet path, eyes wide and awestruck by the alien land. In the distance, beyond a descretated church and hills of dirt is a glowing orange light, bulbous and bright, like it is the very centre of the war, its beating heart. 

Blake wonders, if he douses it will the war end?

A loud shot hits the mangled railing to their left and sparks flare off. Schofield and Blake duck down and start running straight down the path. The gunshots light up the short alleys of darkness. They manage to duck and crouch in holes and half-gone homes until they come upon a blaze of mythical porpotions. It sets the brick and mortar afire, drowns the world in blood red light and the flames whispers to you, _you are at the gates of hell._ A figure emerges from the thick wall of smoke, becoming less hazy with each step they take. At first, he thinks it’s Scho, but no, Scho is standing to his right with his rifle raised. At last, he realises it’s --

“A hun,” Scho whispers when the soldier shoots at them.

Blake swears and they start running and running through arched hallways illuminated by the orange light and alleys packed with rubble. Blake manages to turn and fire off a few shots at the German but he misses. In the strange, demonic light the broken buildings become catacombs and it feels like Blake is running through his own graveyard. Scho leads them to a wooden window on the ground, he kicks and kicks it until it splinters. Scho clambers in and Blake shuffles in after. 

They land on the floor and crouch down, looking up as they hear the footsteps of the German running past them. They remain quiet for a while, letting their breathing calm down and listening out for any movement outside. Scho peeks through the wooden planks at the alleyway as Blake turns to see where they ended up. It’s a small bedroom, bare with nothing but a dusty wooden bed and a half-burnt candle on the bedside table. It looks freshly abandoned like people were only here a week or so ago.

“I think he’s gone,” Scho says behind him.

Blake mumbles a _sure_ as he places his rifle down and walks to the bedside table. He picks up the set of matches the room’s occupier left and strikes it, it catches light and when he puts it on the candle a small glow dances in the room.

Blake is mesmerised by the candle’s flicker. His knees buckle and he sits down on the bed. 

“What are you doing?” Scho hisses, rushing over to Blake.

He goes to blow out the candle but Blake catches his wrist. Scho looks at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Scho,” he says, glancing up at him. 

_God_ , his heart always feels so full when Scho looks at him. He can’t control it anymore. He keeps one hand wrapped around Scho’s wrist and with the other he fists it into Scho’s jacket and pulls him down for a kiss. 

Scho lets out a surprised noise and Blake steals his attention again by sliding his tongue along his. He kneads the back of his neck with his fingers, tilts his head to the side and the kiss changes angle, changes tone and heat pools at his groin. Something scorching and fierce swarms in his chest. Blake lies back on the mattress and pulls Scho on top of him. Scho straddles his waist as he cups Blake’s face. 

Scho tears his mouth away, glancing down at Blake with wide, deep dark eyes. 

“What...I don’t...Blake,” he sputters, “what’s going on?”

“I want...” Blake licks his lips. He suddenly feels nervous, "I want us to..."

Scho reads Blake's expression perfectly. He blinks, “you...what?” It might be a trick of candlelight but he swears a deep blush spreads across his cheeks. “We...we don’t have time for - for that.”

“No one has the time,” he says, gazing up at him, more lovestruck than ever, “it belongs to no one so we do what we can, when we can. We’re close to the Second Devons, just across the river. It’s about an hour from here and we have plenty of time until dawn.” He slides a hand up to cup Scho’s cheek, whose eyes flutter shut, “I don’t know when we’ll have the privacy to do this again and I can’t wait any longer. It’s why I didn’t look at you or talk to you in that truck. I was scared I’d kiss you if I did and getting to the Second Devons would be the least of our problems.”

Scho press his lips to the inside of Blake’s palm and liquid heat beats through him. “I don’t have any oil or--”

“I do, it’s in my pocket.”

Scho opens his eyes and Blake chuckles. 

“I got it at the hotel when we were on leave last month and--”

“And you’ve been carrying it round in your pocket ever since?”

“I didn’t know when we would be on leave again or when we would have privacy, it’s not like we had any lockers lying around or bloody rooms for that matter,” he says. 

Scho kisses his cheek and laughs softly, “you’re ridiculous.”

Blake slides his fingers into Scho’s hair and tugs him back down to his mouth. He wishes they could forget this war and stay like this forever. Things are less amusing after that, more feverish and heady as the temperature rises in the amber-lit room. Clothes peel away and soft moans litter the night. Soon they're both panting and naked and Scho hovers between his legs, sucking a hickey into his neck. Scho leans back to grab the blanket at the end of the bed and pulls it over them. 

“Only us,” he murmurs against Blake’s cheek.

Blake turns and kisses him again, hard and fiery and messy and Blake is swimming in bliss. _Only us._ He places his hands on Scho’s bare back and grinds up, sparks of heat ignite and they both let out deep groans.

“Will,” he rarely uses his first name but when he does Scho always melts in his arms. He melts now and Blake grinds their groins together again. Scho swears as Blake says, “get the oil.”

Scho blindly reaches out to the bedside table for the oil and brings the small vial under the blanket with him. Scho looks at him, “are you sure?”

Blake nods, “yes, Will, c'mon.”

It takes what might be minutes or hours to prepare him, Scho washes his hands with water from a bucket in the corner. He climbs back onto the bed and refuses to do anything until he's convinced Blake won’t feel any pain, until Blake’s cheeks are bright red and his legs are shaking from the waves of pleasure. 

When Scho finally slides in, one hand gripping his thigh and the other braced against the mattress next to Blake’s head, home changes shape and Blake realises the shape is William Schofield. His world becomes him. His thrusts are slow and languid and Blake struggles to catch his breath. 

“Harder,” Blake chokes out, settling his hands on Scho’s hips. 

He obliges and Blake swears and he feels like he’s on the edge of something, a cliff or a roof and he’s one gust of wind away from falling. Scho thrusts faster and faster, his pace stuttering here and there as their emotions come to a peak. Scho lifts Blake's hips a little off the bed and hits an angle that has him seeing stars. _Fuck_. He drags in a breath to cool his burning lungs. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ He won't last much longer. He won't last at all.

Scho slaps a hand over his mouth, cutting off the loud moans Blake didn’t realise he was making. Blake meets Scho’s eyes, they look so dilated, so big and dark the idea they were ever blue seems like a fairytale. His eyes water as Scho thrusts into him. How have they have gone so long without doing this? 

“Tommy,” Scho groans. Blake wishes he could archive Scho’s rough voice right now, “we have to be quiet but... _ah_ , this feels...you feel...so good.”

Blake's eyes roll back and he wants to tell Scho to stop talking because he's going to fall apart if he doesn't but Scho still has his hand over his mouth and he can't find the words. _Oh, God._ He clenches his thighs, meets Scho's next thrust and Scho is gasping, lost for words too.

Scho’s pace slows down then, but it's deeper somehow and the cotton sheets scrunch up in Blake's fists. He slips two of his fingers in Blake’s slack mouth and Blake sucks on them, Scho’s movement falters as he hisses out a quiet curse. The intensity of his desire for Scho threatens to send him over the edge. It's...it's too much. This is too much. He feels like he’s going to pass out but at the same time he never wants it to end.

"I heard you," Scho whispers in his ear, pulling his fingers out of his mouth and cupping his jaw.

It's too hot and it feels too good and Blake's mind is blank. He just about manages to croak, " _f-fuck..._ what?" 

Blake opens his eyes, not realising he'd closed them in the first place and glances up at Scho which turns out to be a terrible idea because Scho is looking at him too and he looks gorgeous. Gorgeous and devastating with his flushed cheeks and his hair sticking to his forehead and his pink mouth parted and those deep blue eyes that have become so impossibly dark it reminds him of the night sky back home. Blake's vaguely aware that the blanket was thrown onto the floor at some point.

"Back in that building," Scho tells Blake. He looks completely wrecked. Blake's heart leaps at the sight. He sounds it too, "when I got knocked out by that hun."

 _What?_ Alarm intertwines with searing pleasure. No, no, he heard him? That was only meant for Blake. It wasn't supposed to actually seep into reality and exist for anyone's ears to catch. Especially not William Schofield, the cause of such emotions.

" _Will,"_ he lets out a soft moan when Scho hits that spot again. His panicked thoughts scatter away with another thrust. It feels as if his whole body has been engulfed in flames. Perhaps the fire consuming the town has finally caught up with them. 

He drags his free hand through Scho's sweat slickened hair, sweeping it off his forehead. Scho squeezes his thigh and Blake wraps his legs tighter around him. Just a little more. He's so close. He can feel it building it up inside, rising and rising and he's sure his heart is about to explode. 

"I heard you in that building," Scho says again, sweeping a thumb across his cheek, "I thought I dreamt it but I didn't, did I?" 

Blake is lost for words. He can't...damn it, he can't think. Scho licks his hand, the one that isn't bandaged up, slips it between their sweaty bodies and wraps it around Blake and starts pumping with maddening pace.

"Oh, fuck - _ah!_ Will," he pants against Scho's mouth. His legs are shaking now, "I can’t... _Will,_ you’re gonna make me…"

He dips down, gently biting Blake’s lower lip and moving on to drags his mouth across his cheek. He nibbles on Blake's ear lobe and between Scho's swift pumping and the spot he keeps hitting again and again Blake's convinced he's losing his mind. This is one of the many paths to madness.

“Tommy, I heard you,” Scho whispers, his voice soft as silk, his lips grazing the shell of Blake’s ear, “I love you too."

And just like that, he comes. Everything is white hot. Reality fractures into a million shards and he throws his head back against the mattress. A blistering torch has been lit in the pit of his stomach, it’s caught on fire and it’s burning him from the inside out. Scho slides a hand behind his neck and tugs him up, swallowing Blake's loud moans with a deep, hungry kiss. 

He wraps his arms around Scho’s neck and lets the shockwaves carry him through this, lets the fire beneath his skin consume him and burn him whole. He tears away from Scho’s mouth with a gasp he can’t contain, his belly is wet from his release. The entirety of the German armed forces could descend upon them now and Blake would be blind to them. 

Scho tucks his forehead between the crook of his neck and shoulder, panting as he chases his own release. Dragging deep lungfuls of breath, Blake glides his fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair. He grips the locks, hard enough to hurt and with his other hand he sweeps a thumb across Scho’s nipple and whispers soft-sweet words until Scho spills inside him with the most attractive moan Blake’s ever heard. 

Blake’s legs, twitching from the aftershocks of his orgasm, loosen around his waist as Scho collapses on top of him. Only the sounds of their heavy breaths fill the small room, possibly the whole world. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours pass when Scho presses a kiss to his shoulder, slips out of him and slumps down to his right. Blake watches him dazed as Scho tucks loose curls behind Blake’s ears.

“Are you okay?” Scho asks, desire and concern mix together in his eyes, “I...I didn’t hurt you did I? Blake--”

“I’m okay,” Blake says and shuffles closer to him. He places his arm over his stomach and rests his head on Scho’s chest. 

Scho wipes his cheek, "you were crying, I was worried."

Blake blushes, embarrassed by how emotional he got. He touches his cheek, surprised when he feels wetness. 

"It wasn't because I was hurt," he rubs circles into Scho's chest, "I...it was a little overwhelming." He clears his throat and runs a finger down Scho's side and scrunches up his face, “anyway, you’re so sweaty.”

"So are you," Scho pinches his arm and Blake barely stops himself from yelping. They chuckle softly. 

Blake nibbles on his lower lip and glances up at him, “did you mean what you said?”

Scho slides his arm under his head and glances down at him, “When?”

“Just then,” he swallows, “that...that you…”

“Yes,” Scho says, he glances up at the ceiling for a second then back to Blake, “did you?”

Blake wills himself to be brave again. He says, “yes.”

Scho squeezes his arm. “Well, then.”

“Well, then,” Blake says with a growing smile as he rises on his elbows and leans down to kiss Scho. 

Scho’s tongue traces the seam of his lower lip, he opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. He climbs onto Scho's lap who wraps one arm around his waist and sits up, pushing Blake up too. Reality melts like candle wax and war becomes a faded memory. Scho’s fingers drag through his hair, sending sparks skittering across his scalp as Blake strokes his hand up and down his back. 

They’re both panting when they separate. 

“We oughta leave,” Blake whispers against his lips.

Scho swallows and nods, his gaze never leaving Blake’s mouth. 

“Scho,” Blake says, “seriously, we need to go.”

“Yes, yes,” Scho blinks, shaking his head, “sorry, yes.”

Blake smiles, finding his confusion adorable so he cups his face and gives him a long, sweet kiss. 

They clean up and get dressed in the flickering candlelight, side by side as they pull on their shoes and tie their shoelaces. Scho buttons up Blake's collar and Blake pats Scho's jacket clean of any dust. He has Scho put General Erinmore's letter in that small metal tin he keeps in his breast pocket. It will be safer in there. When they’re fully dressed, they grab their rifles and Blake blows out the candle. They let the moonlight slipping in through the slits in the wall guide them out. 

When they reach a flight of stairs that lead up into the ruined town crawling with Germans, Scho places a hand on Blake’s chest. 

The moonlight catches Scho’s half smile as he says, “age before beauty, remember?”

Blake’s breathing stutters. He grabs the collar of Scho’s jacket with one hand and pulls him down for a kiss, it’s warm and soft and leaves him feeling weak at the knees when they pull apart. 

“I love you,” Blake whispers, pressing their foreheads together. Every time he says it he feels free.

He hears Scho swallow, “I love you too.”

They separate. Scho nods and Blake watches with a hammering heart as Scho lifts his rifle and walks up the stairs. Blake readies his own rifle, squares his shoulders and like always, follows after Scho. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake and Schofield attempt to escape that ruined town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i see u have continued in your endeavour to cry about scho and blake with me, i respect it

**APRIL 7th, 1917**

  
  


**IN THE** ruins of a town set ablaze by an infernal war, deep in German territory, a pair of English soldiers tread through its eerie streets. 

“Stay close,” Schofield whispers to Blake as they start jogging. 

His legs still feel like jelly from their heated embrace but he forces himself to keep up with Scho. He can’t lose sight of him and have a repeat of last time.

The sound of a bottle rattling across the street cuts into the night air. A German soldier stumbles out of one of the buildings, Blake and Schofield run to a darkened corner. Gripping his rifle against his chest, Blake carefully leans forward to look over at the German who coughs and sputters before vomiting onto a rubble of dirt. Scho taps his shoulder and gestures to the right with his rifle. Blake nods.

He pauses to let Scho spin around and shuffle into the building. Blake walks backward as his eyes scan the alleyway, slowly stepping further back. Close by a loud thud and a grunt sounds, Blake turns to see Scho has a blond-haired German soldier shoved against the thick wooden beam. Blake’s heart skips a beat as fear crashes over him like a bucket of ice water. Scho has a hand slammed over the boy’s mouth as they stare at each other, breathing hard and fast.

He shushes the German and nods to which the soldier nods back. Blake holds his breath as Scho slowly takes his hand off the German’s mouth and steps back. His gaze skips between Blake and Schofield, he turns his head **—**

 _"Engländer!”_

Blake and Schofield both start, rushing to grab the boy at the same time. Scho drags him into the dark corner where they wrestle on the dusty floor. Blake tries to drag the boy off Scho but it’s so dark in this corner he can’t tell who is who. The sound of quiet grunts and feet shuffling on the concrete echo in the building as the three soldiers tussle for control. An elbow lands in Blake’s eye, a knee in his stomach and he struggles to silence his pained noises.

Someone, either the German or Scho brings out a knife and Blake whacks it out of their hands before either one of them gets stabbed. He can’t bear anymore deaths today, even if it is an enemy. Behind them, the older, drunker German bumbles back in, his speech slurred as he picks up another bottle. 

Blake is pushed into the wooden beam and Scho ends up on his back with the German’s hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. Blake stands up and slams the butt of his rifle in the back of the boy’s head, he grunts and falls to the floor.

Scho coughs as Blake scrambles over to the German, grabs the boy by the collar of his jacket and with the hand adorned with rings, he lands a hard punch on his jaw, then another on his temple. It knocks him out cold. The drunk German continues his rambling, something about a mistake and going back but Blake's german isn't all that good and he's preoccupied with staying alive. The older man pauses and starts stumbling towards them, probably curious as to why his friend hasn’t said anything. Scho gets up and runs over to the drunk, crashing into him with such force the man spins and falls over. 

Blake pushes himself off the boy and runs out of the building with Scho. Behind them, the drunk German shouts something, then **—**

_“ENGLÄNDER!”_

The furious voice announcing their presence rings like a death bell through the cursed town. 

_“ENGLÄNDER!”_

A shot pierces the crumbling bricks only inches from Scho’s head. He ducks, glances back at Blake with wide eyes and keeps running. 

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Numbing terror seizes Blake as his mind screams, _they know **—** they know you're here! _

Escape seems like a long forgotten myth. He reaches for his rifle and curses when he remembers he dropped it back there during the scuffle. His eyebrows rise when he sees a soldier appear out of nowhere and point his rifle at Scho.

“Scho!” He shouts to warn him, “watch out!”

Scho sees the German and turns into a sharp corner as the bullet lands in the wall next to him. The soldier tries to shoot at Blake but he ducks in time and chases after Scho. They run through narrow streets, between collapsed homes and mounds of broken bricks. Amber light from a pulsing ball of fire not faraway illuminates their way. A barrage of neverending bullets follow them as more and more cries of _ENGLÄNDER!_ pierce the night. He has this strange, sickening feeling that they are being chased through the bowels of hell, that the devil will appear in a swirl of smoke and damn them to this town forever for their parts in this unholy war. 

“We’re going to jump!” Scho shouts at him.

“What?” Blake shouts back, wondering if Scho has lost his mind.

Darkness shrouds their path the further they run from the town. The Germans’ shouts echo through the night as they turn left and sprint towards a long, stone bridge. 

“We have to jump!” Scho shouts and reaches over to grab Blake’s hand, his grip is ironclad, “it’s the only way!”

He can hear the faint rush of the river below. Blake shakes his head, “why is there only ever one bloody way with you!” 

A shot, this one right by his ear. 

“Blake!” Scho bellows, the terror in his voice is clear as day, “do you trust me?”

Blake squeezes his hand as he shouts, “yes!”

“Then, _jump!_ ” 

Hand in hand, they leap onto the wall of the bridge and jump over as another shot sounds behind them. For a short, heartstopping second they are suspended in the air. Then, their bodies are swallowed by the icy, roaring waters of the river below. He can’t tell which way is up or down and the water is so cold it feels like a million needles are crashing into him but by the grace of God he finds the surface somehow. He drags in deep breaths, coughing as he looks around for Scho. 

“Blake!” Scho screams over the deafening rush of water. “Blake!”

“Oh, shit,” Blake sputters, “Scho! Scho!”

He spots Scho’s head bobbing above the water. Blake tries to swim over to him but the currents are too strong and Scho is too far away. Scho grunts as he struggles to rip off his outer coat and Blake fights to keep his head above water. 

“Hold on!” Scho shouts as he turns to him and throws his coat between them. 

Blake just about manages to grab the sleeve and Scho starts to tug him closer but there’s a dip in the river and Scho loses his grip on the coat. Blake screams his name as Scho disappears under the waves. They made it through that godless town with its glowing buildings and choking flames and now Poseidon threatens to drown them. The sound of deep coughs carry over the rushing river and Blake turns in that direction, his heart almost collapsing when he sees Scho spluttering a few feet away. 

Scho looks at him, his eyes widening as he tries to point at something behind Blake. He turns and he only has a second to register the huge, jagged rock jutting out of the water before he slams into it head first and everything plunge into darkness.

☼

 _Blake, please,_ a velvety, imploring voice filters through the haze, _Blake, I need you to wake up._

His eyes flutter open as the faint sounds of running water and songbirds join the voice chanting his surname. It’s then that coughs start wracking his body, his throat burns as water spews past his lips and dribbles down his chin. Blake squeezes his eyes shut, turning onto his side to grip the grass beneath him with both hands and spit the water out. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

 _Wait,_ his eyes fly open, _grass._

Lo’ and behold there is grass between his fingers. He looks up to find Scho kneeling next to him, soaking wet with his hands settled on his thighs as he pants. He stares at Blake with an expression that is both relieved and devastated. Blake looks past Scho, his pale blue eyes take in the grassy knoll they are on, the forest around them and the river before them. The river’s calmness unnerves him, such a stark difference from its rage and its determination to drown them only moments ago. 

No, not moments ago. It was dark moments ago, dark with the flecks of light in the distance that had promised dawn and that promised dawn has arrived. 

“Scho? What happened?” he says, his voice comes out in a harsh croak. “Am I dying?”

It feels like he is. He’s drenched through, the back of his head hurts and his body feels like it has been drained of any life. Scho stares at him, his dark blue eyes swim with a thousand emotions Blake can’t pinpoint at once. 

Blake jolts when Scho keels over, his fingers gripping the grass as he starts shaking and whimpering. At first he thinks a sniper hidden between the trees has hit Scho but it takes him a few seconds to realise Scho isn’t crying, he’s laughing. 

Blake blinks, surprised by this turn of events, “Scho, what **—** ”

Scho sits up, revealing a bright grin as his booming laughter rings in the forest. The sound warms his chest, he hasn’t heard Scho’s laugh since yesterday morning and he didn’t realise he missed it this much. It's why Blake tells him all those funny stories, the mere sight of Scho's smile makes the world feel less broken. He was afraid this vicious journey would kill any chance of Blake ever hearing it again. 

“We’re still alive, how **—** how **—** ” Scho wipes a tear from his eye, “how the hell are we still alive?”

Scho’s incredulous questioning startles a laugh out of Blake. They’re losing their minds. He pushes up so he’s leaning back on his elbows and says, “only God knows. It’s a bloody miracle.”

“Well, can you tell him to stop trying to kill us?”

“Why me? You’ve got a mouth.”

“You’re the one who wanted to join the priesthood,” Scho says, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “He’ll listen to you.”

The days he wanted to become a priest seem a lifetime away then. It would have been a solemn life, stuffed with long prayers and sermons. He understands now, why Scho only ever sees one path, it's painful to consider what could be. He can’t imagine such a life now, it’s been blown apart by the war but mostly by Schofield. He can’t imagine a life without him in it. He wouldn't want it even if you offered it in exchange for home. Scho is his home.

 _He won’t listen to me_ , Blake thinks but he doesn’t say it, _not after joining this war._

No, after meeting William Schofield the priesthood just won’t do. He focuses on Scho’s soft laughter and smile and the way the corners of his eyes crinkle and such thoughts drift away. 

“What happened?” He asks Scho as he glances around at the quiet forest and the river. He must have lost his jacket and rucksack at some point as he has been left in his greyback shirt and suspenders. 

“You got knocked out by that rock when we were in the river,” he says, “it was sheer luck I managed to grab you and...I think we went over a waterfall **—** ”

“What?”

Scho runs a hand down his face, “I know, I tried to hold onto you as I swam and I dragged us here. I think you lost your stuff when we went over that waterfall.”

Blake slams a hand over his chest, “the letter, General Erinmore’s letter where is it?”

“I have it,” Scho tells him, he pats his breast pocket, “I put it in my tin container, remember?” 

Blake breathes out, “oh, thank God,”

“I was scared you were **—** ” Scho clenches his hands into fists in his lap, “you were **—"**

Blake reaches across and pulls Scho down for a hug. Scho falls on top of him, his wet hair presses into Blake’s cheek as he hugs him back. 

“I’m here,” Blake murmurs, “I’ll always be here.”

Scho lets out a shuddering breath in Blake’s ear. Blake rests a hand on the back of Scho’s neck and the other on his waist and whispers, “thank you.”

“For what?” Scho says, his voice muffled against Blake’s shoulder.

“For saving my life,” he says, “just now and back at that farm. You keep saving my life, I oughta return the favour.”

“Well, you saved mine first in that cave but... I don’t want to keep score, I’m just **—** ” he swallows, “I’m just glad you’re alive. I don’t know what I would have done if you **—** if anything happened to you. I don’t think you understand how much I **—** I love you, Tommy.”

And Blake just has to kiss him then.

His pulse quickens as he slides his fingers into Scho’s damp hair, tugs his head up and captures his mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. It feels like a miracle, illicit and impossible because it’s shocking either of them let alone both of them made it out of that raging river alive.

Blake's heart swells as Scho holds his chin between his fingers and uses it to pry Blake's mouth open a little wider and slip his tongue in. He bites Blake’s bottom lip and the kiss turns desperate, feverish and _oh so good_ he never wants to be doing anything else. It chases away the cold of the river as liquid heat fills his limbs. Scho moans deliciously into Blake’s mouth, it vibrates through him, leaves every inch of his skin buzzing and he realises love and insanity are two sides of the same coin. 

“Are you cold?” Scho says, pulling away and glancing down at Blake. He pants lightly, brushes a finger across Blake’s right eyebrow, “do you want my jacket?”

“Your jacket is wet too,” he says, gazing up at Scho with nothing short of reverence.

“Yes but it’ll dry.”

Blake shakes his head and opens his mouth to tell him he's not shivering because he’s cold, it’s just the effect Scho has on him when Scho’s head jerks up. His eyes dart around. Blake tenses as he grabs a hold of Scho’s arm. 

“Can you hear that?” Scho whispers.

“Hear what?” Blake tilts his head back to try and catch sight of whatever might be lurking up the hill they’re lying on, “Scho, what **—** ”

“Listen,” Scho cuts him off, rolling off him and pushing himself up to stand. 

Blake remains on the ground because he still feels weak and he’s scared it’s a sniper hiding in the trees, waiting to take them out. He listens closely, moments pass and he doesn’t hear anything. He’s about to tell Scho when he catches it, riding faintly on the spring wind, a voice. Blake scrambles to stand up, he puts an arm out against the gnarled tree to stop himself from falling over. Blake and Schofield stare up the hill as they strain to hear the faint voice. 

“English,” Blake says with a cough when he catches something that sounds like _father_. “Scho, that’s English.”

Blake and Schofield grunt as they climb up the hill. Scho stumbles when they reach the top and falls onto the forest floor. 

“I can’t, I’m tired,” Scho says as Blake helps him up, he snakes an arm around Scho’s waist and puts Scho’s arm across his shoulders.

“We have to keep moving,” Blake tells him, the tree branches shake in the passing wind, “we’re almost there.”

Scho is heavy against Blake but he manages to walk. They amble through the forest as they follow the voice, soon it becomes clear the voice is singing. Singing a siren song that calls to them, tugs at their limbs and draws them closer. Blake and Schofield duck under a low branch, their boots crush the leaves and sticks on the ground. Rustling leaves mix with the song and Blake’s heart leaps when he spots what must be at least a hundred British soldiers sitting down as they listen to the enchanting song. 

Blake and Schofield draw nearer. In the centre of the crowd, a young boy no older than Blake sings to them. They circle the edge of the crowd before Scho pushes away from Blake, braces one hand against a tree and slides down. He rests his head against the bark and watches the boy in the middle. The song is beguiling and Blake can’t help but sink down onto his knees and let it wash over him. Surely, he can rest for a little, just a little. They have walked so far and his body aches. 

_I am a poor wayfaring stranger, I'm travellin’ through this world of woe,_ he closes his eyes, _yet there’s no sickness, no toil, nor danger in that bright land to which I go._

It feels like a dream, like he’s being lulled to sleep. _I’m going th_ _ere to see my father, I’m going there no more to roam ** **—****_ he imagines he’s back home, fitting in a quick nap before Mum comes back from the shops, asleep on the soft grass as petals descend around him. _I know my way is rough and steep but golden fields lie just before me, where God’s redeemed shall ever sleep._ Can any of them be redeemed? After all they have seen and done? He's fallen in love with another man and feels no remorse about it. He's taken lives in the name of king and country but he doesn't think that will hold up at the gates of heaven. 

Scho once said God abandoned them all a year into this war but Blake isn’t sure he believes that. They would never have made it through enemy territory if God hadn't been watching. _I'm going home to see my mother and all my loved ones who've gone on._ If he concentrates he can smell the orchard back home, smell the sweet waft of the petals in the spring air. _I’m only going over Jordan, I’m only going over home._

It’s the chorus of claps that rips away his fantasy and has him shoot up, ready to fight any oncoming Germans. There’s no Germans of course, only the hundred or so British soldiers who are all standing up too and gathering their things. A trio of them turn to look at Blake, the one in the middle with curly, dark hair frowns at him.

“You alright, pal?” He asks, shrugging the strap of his rifle onto his shoulder. 

“He’s bloody soaked,” a Geordie boy says walking over to Scho who is still sitting down. 

“This one's soaked too,” the curly-haired boy tells his friends, he looks at Blake and jerks a thumb at Scho, “is he yours?”

“He’s not one of ours,” another boy says glancing around.

“He’s mine,” Blake says, rushing over to Scho and kneeling down. Scho’s eyes flutter but they don’t open. He looks dazed. He pats his cheek, “Scho, get up, we gotta find the Second Devons.”

A ginger boy kneels down next to him and says, “we’re the Devons.”

“Wait,” Blake’s heart leaps in his chest as he glances up at the other soldiers. His breath catches in his throat, “you’re the Devons?”

Scho stirs at the mention of the Devons, his eyes opening as he looks up at the other soldiers. “The Devons,” he murmurs, “what...why haven’t you gone over?”

The curly-haired one answers, “we’re the second wave.”

“They don’t send us all at once,” someone behind Blake adds.

“Yeah, we’re D-Company,” the ginger one says, “we spend the night digging in, we go last.”

Blake and Schofield look at each other, their eyebrows rising as the realisation fully sets in. 

“You two alright?” The ginger one says as he catches their shared look of panic. 

“We need to find Colonel Mackenzie,” Blake says as he helps Scho stand up, he looks around at the boys.

Scho places a hand on Blake’s shoulder to steady himself and he’s panting when he asks, “where is Colonel Mackenzie?” 

“Well, he’s down at the line,” the ginger boy replies as he stands up too. “We’re headed up there now **—** _oi_ , steady on mate!”

Blake and Schofield set off, pushing past the throng of soldiers as the ginger boy shouts after them, wondering where they’re going.

“Move!” Blake shouts, shoving through. “Move!”

The crowd thins into a queue when the ground slopes down. Blake’s eyes widen again when he sees hundreds of men marching through the white, carved out trenches in the open field. Blake and Schofield shout for people to move as they run down the trench because what part of _move_ is so hard to understand? 

Despite it all they made it to the Second Devons together. It's the latest miracle since they left the Eighth yesterday afternoon. Perhaps God hasn't abandoned them at all. 

"I think the first wave are about to go over," Blake tells him as they come up to a hub in the trenches where soldiers crowd around a platoon commander who barks swift commands at them. 

Scho moves towards the officer and Blake places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “That’s not the Colonel, we need to take the letter straight to Mackenzie, the attack is minutes away now, these lot aren’t gonna believe us, they **—** ” Blake recalls the Captain's words back at the sunken bridge, “they just want the fight. Mackenzie’s the only one who can stop it.”

The words seem to sink in as Scho nods. “Right,” he breathes in, his blue eyes search Blake’s, “what...what are we going to do?”

He puts a hand out to stop Scho from stumbling. Blake can tell he’s close to collapsing but he’s holding on. Despite the hell and hardship of the last day, he’s still fighting to help Blake stop the attack. It’s a sight that carves Scho’s name permanently into Blake’s bones. Scho has ruined him for anyone else, there can only ever be him, not that there was a bloody queue for Blake in the first place. 

Soldiers bump into them as they march through the trenches, Blake grabs one of them, a spindly-looking man with a giant moustache. He asks, “Where’s Colonel Mackenzie?”

The man nods his head to the left, “down the line in the hulking pen mate.”

“Can you take us to him? We have an important message,” Blake says, it’s better than stumbling around trying to find the Colonel, these trenches go on for miles.

“Scarper off,” the man scoffs, “you might be a postman but do I look like a bloody nanny?”

A younger, freckle-faced boy glances back at them. “Oh, don’t be such a wanker, Carmichael.” He turns to Blake and Schofield, “don’t think anyone’s allowed near the Colonel until after the attack is over, tell you what, best I can do is take you to the Captain. He’ll help.”

The man scoffs again, “you just don’t wanna face the huns.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t fancy getting blown to pieces **—** ”

“Can we move?” Blake snaps, “we don’t have time for this.”

The freckle-faced boy throws them a frown then leads through them the winding, white trenches. They push through crowds of soldiers who nod as more commands are barked at them by their platoon commanders. 

“The Captain’s just down there,” the boy says, when they finally reach the front line. 

“Thank you,” Blake pats the boy’s arm as Scho starts running down the trench and he chases after him. 

Half the soldiers are crouched down on the ground with their rifles held tight and the other half lie against the steep slopes waiting to charge. Is Joe here? Is he one of the first to go over? Blake tries to scan every man’s face but there’s too many. His only hope is to stop the attack and find Joe the moment it’s done. 

Scho runs ahead of him, he grabs a weeping man that must be the Captain and shouts for the Colonel’s location but the man only cries in response.

Scho shakes his shoulders, “We have a message, this attack is called off, you have to stop **—**!”

An explosion erupts a few feet behind Blake. Splintered rocks soar in the air and Blake runs as he covers his head. Scho gives up on the Captain and keeps racing down the trench. Blake passes the crying captain as another shell slams into the wall and the explosion sends him flying back. His ears ring as he struggles to breathe through the storm of dust rock that showers the trenches, his fall was cushioned by a body beneath him. He glances down with sickening apprehension to find it’s the Captain, dead with a deep gash in the side of his head and tears staining his cheeks. Blake scurries off him and keeps running. It doesn’t do well to dwell on it. 

Wait, where’s Scho? Shit. He’s lost sight of Scho. 

“Scho!” He shouts, panic ripping through him because he can’t see Scho or anything through the neverending debris. Another explosion nearly knocks him out but he picks himself up again and stumbles forward. He covers his hand over his nose and mouth and coughs. He has to keep moving.

“Scho!” He shouts again but he doubts his voice can be heard over the shells hitting them relentlessly. 

One of the platoon commanders holds a pistol in one hand and pushes a soldier back against the wall as he screams for them to _hold fire!_ But the fire is already here, the Germans have brought it in their shells and they aim to wipe them all out with it.

A loud, piercing whistle cuts through the chaos. 

Blake gasps, he knows that sound all too well, “no, no, _stop! Don’t **—**_ ”

Every soldier whose crouched down leaps up then and charges over the trenches into battle with war cries louder than the shells. Blake watches with a sinking, crumbling heart. He’s journeyed so far, all the way to the edge of the war only to watch the world burn. He pushes past the charging soldiers until he spots another platoon commander with his leg propped up against the slope and a pistol in his hand as he spurs the men onto their deaths. 

“Sir!” He shouts, reaching out to grab the older man’s arm, “Sir, you have to stop this attack!”

The commander dips as another explosion goes off in the distance. He frowns at Blake, “stop it? Have you lost your mind? It’s already started!”

“But it’s been called off!” He shouts, “I need to find the Colonel! Where is Colonel Mackenzie?”

“Like I told the other corporal, he’s three hundred yards further **—** ”

“Corporal? What corporal?” Blake starts. Another explosion, his heart or a shell, he isn’t sure, “where did he go? The other corporal, where did he go?”

“He’s bloody insane!” He says, throwing his arms in the air, “I told him he’ll have to wait until the first wave goes over to get through but he wouldn’t listen and he went over!”

Blake knows what he means but he asks anyway to confirm his fears. “Over where?”

“The trenches!” He screams over the onslaught of shells, “he’s running across that Godforsaken field to Mackenzie right now!”

Blake looks up as more men climb up the slope to run into battle. His heart has disappeared and left his chest hollow. His heart is running across the field to save sixteen hundred men, his brother included. He doesn’t realise he’s moved to go over the trench and follow Scho until the commander pulls him back down and slams him against the wall. 

“Are you bloody insane?” He shouts at him, “the Germans are bombing every inch of that field, you don’t have a rifle, a helmet or even your full uniform, you will never make it!”

No, he won’t but **—**

“Schofield will!” He shouts back.

“Is that the other lance corporal? Listen, I’m sorry to break it to you but he won’t make it and…" He shakes his head, “...and even if he did, it’d be a bloody miracle!”

A laugh ripple out of Blake then as a strange sense of finality settles over him. Maybe he has gone insane. He laughs and laughs and the commander watches him with growing worry. The earth shakes as explosions litter the field and grey, thick dust rains down on them.

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Blake says through fits of laughter, “it would have to be a miracle!” He spreads his arms out, “God knows we’ve used them all up getting here!”

Who knew the end of the world could be so funny? The commander keeps his gaze on Blake as he blindly reaches out and taps the hat of a dark-skinned boy crouching down next to them. 

“Yes, sir?” The boy says standing up and keeping low to avoid the onslaught of rocks.

“Grey, get him out of here,” he says, “he’s got shell shock.”

Blake is still laughing as the dark-skinned boy, Grey, grabs him by the arm and quickly pulls him down the trench. Dead bodies and bleeding, croning men litter their path but they keep moving. White dust clouds the air as Grey hauls him through the trenches with its infuriating serpentine lanes. Grey's saying something but Blake can’t hear him, his mind is a violent storm and his body aches all over. 

“What?” Blake says, trying to cough out the dust that is surely in his lungs.

“I said,” Grey frowns as they turn a corner, “if you don’t get yourself together they’ll charge you with cowardice or insubordination and you’ll be sent home packing. You’ll be a social pariah.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles because he doesn’t. He has been emptied out and he has nothing left to give. The last remaining pieces of Thomas Blake, the ones the war hadn’t pummelled out of him yet, he had given to Scho but now Scho could be **—** he squeezes his eyes shut. 

The commander’s words drift back to him, _and even if he did, it’d be a bloody miracle!_ Blake lets laughter bubble out of him again, ignoring the disturbed looks Grey keeps sending his way. If he doesn’t laugh he will cry, cry and scream and then they would really think he’s got shell shock. Maybe he does. He feels on the precipice of all consuming lunacy. One final push and he’s done for. Any news of Scho or his brother’s deaths would be that push.

Someone bumps into him, Blake looks up, it’s a pair of soldiers carrying an unconscious boy on a stretcher. Blood drips down on the stark white ground from the boy’s blown off arm. Blake catches a glimpse of freckles and he prays it’s not the boy who guided him and Scho to the Captain. 

“What…?” Blake glances around at the dozens of wounded soldiers hobbling up the steep slope. He’s only just noticed them. “Where’s everyone going? Are we retreating?”

“Yeah, didn't you hear the whistle? Mackenzie's called off the attack,” Grey says with a slight quirk of his lips, “it’s a bloody miracle.”

Blake straightens as alarm shoots up his spine. “They’ve...what? They called it off?” Scho did it. Scho made it across the field and he actually bloody did it! Blake gasps and turns to Grey, “have you seen Leftenant Blake?”

Grey blinks, “Blake?”

He nods, “he’s my brother, he looks like me but a little bit older.”

“ _Oh_ , that’s why you look familiar,” Grey says then shakes his head, “no, I haven’t seen him mate. He’s probably around here somewhere, he’s always leading the casualties at the end of a battle.”

“Where do the casualties go?”

“The clearing station behind the line,” Grey points up, Blake follows the direction of his finger to the dirty white tents atop the steep slope that leads out of the trenches. 

He pushes away from Grey, ignoring his protests and stumbles up the slope to the open field where half a dozen large tents have been set up. It is a spectacle of misery, soldiers cry out in pain as orderlies yell. Blake stumbles through the tents, feeling half-drunk as he scans every face for his brother or Scho. 

“Have you seen Leftenant Blake?” He asks an orderly busy trying to wrap a bandage around someone’s head.

“No,” he grunts, “if you can walk head to the triage, this tent is for serious injuries.”

Blake walks away, the lump in his throat grows as the anxiety threatens to take over him. He comes to the edge of the clearing station, where the golden field stretches out for miles and the forest sits on the horizon. He freezes mid-step when he hears a pair of familiar voices. He spins around, his legs almost giving out when he spots Scho talking to his older brother on the crushed grass path. 

Joe looks well, dusty and marred by dirt but he looks well. No injuries, no missing limbs. Scho has his back to him so he can’t seem him properly but he thinks, or rather hopes, he’s well. 

“...you must know my brother,” Joe says, tilting his head to the side and marching closer to Scho. Excitement plays across his green eyes. He has their father's eyes and Blake has their mother's.

Scho says, “I was sent here with him.”

“Tom’s here? Where is he?” He smiles, glancing around, his eyes widening when they land on Blake a few feet behind Scho. “Oh my God, Tom!”

Scho turns back, surprise widening his eyes too. Blake and Joe run to each other and meet in a crushing hug. 

“Tom,” Joe breathes, tightening his arms around Blake. 

Tears sting Blake’s eyes, he quickly blinks them back before they fall when Joe pulls back to grin at him.

“I can’t believe you’re here! What are you doing here? Your mate said you were sent to deliver a message **—** **”** Joe stops, frowning when he touches Blake’s forehead and his fingers come back bloody. “What happened?”

Blake touches his forehead, mirroring Joe’s frown when he feels blood there. It must have been the rocks, there were a million of them flying around. One was bound to hit him.

“Nothing, just some debris,” he says wiping his bloody fingers on his trousers.“General Erinmore ordered today’s attack to be called off, the field telephones were cut so he sent us to deliver the message to Colonel Mackenzie.”

“Wait, you two are the reason it was called off?”

“Actually, it was more Scho than me, he got the message to Mackenzie in time.”

“What was the message? Why was it called off?”

“The Germans planned the retreat,” he says, not quite believing Joe is in front of him, “they’ve been planning it for months, they wanted you to attack. It was a trap. We tried to stop it but **—** ” he glances around at the injured soldiers being dragged under the tents, tears sting his eyes again,“we were a little late….when we got here the first wave was about to go over, I **—** ”

"Stop it," Joe pulls him in for another hug. “You did well, you did brilliantly, Tom,” he says, “you did all you could when you could and I’m proud of you. You and your mate saved a lot of lives here today.”

Blake fights back tears as he swallows the lump in his throat. Joe pulls back to look at him, concern furrows his eyebrows together. 

"Myrtle's having puppies," he blurts out, partly to distract Joe from noticing how close he is to crying and partly because he would rather talk about something else. 

It works or perhaps Joe lets him change the subject. His brother says, "oh, really? Did Mum write to you?" 

Blake nods, "got the letter yesterday afternoon before Erinmore sent me and Scho here. She wants to keep half the litter and sell the other half. She reckons she can get a good price for 'em."

"She will, Myrtle's a prize dog," Joe agrees and casts a glance behind Blake, “where’s your mate going?”

Blake turns to see Scho’s retreating figure as he ambles through the field to the lone, tall tree. He looks back at Joe, “resting, he’s tired.”

“Schofield, isn’t it?” Joe says with a knowing smile Blake doesn’t like one bit, “is that the one you gush about in your letters?”

Blake sputters as heat spreads across his cheeks. “I wasn’t gushing, what are you talking about?"

Joe’s smile grows into a wide grin. He hums, “I don’t know, it sounded like gushing to me.”

“Will you shut up?” Blake says, shoving him back with a push to the shoulder. 

Joe laughs, it’s a sound Blake hasn’t heard in over a year and it warms him more than the late morning sunshine. 

He places a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Have you eaten? You look terrible.”

“Jeez, thanks,” he lets out a soft chuckle, “no, not really. Haven’t had the chance. You try being shot at by Germans all night and then nearly drowning and let’s see how pretty you look.” 

Joe’s eyebrows rise, “you nearly drowned?”

“It’s a long story,” he says with a sigh. It's a long dream.

“You gotta tell me it before you go back to the Eighth,” he says, patting Blake’s arm, “but first, go check on your mate. I’m gonna fetch you some food from the mess tents.”

“Okay,” he says, “thanks, Joe.”

“No, Tom, thank _you_ ,” he says with sincerity. “You might have just saved my life today. Now, go on, go to your mate. Wait,” he takes out a piece of cloth from his trouser pocket and presses it Blake’s forehead. He dabs a few more times before patting Blake’s arm again and walking off.

Blake turns around before he breaks out in tears then and there. He walks through the knee-high grass to Scho. He’s sat down, leaning back on the birch tree as he takes out that tin container. Blake knows he should look away. Scho holds whatever is in that tin sacred, so sacred Blake has never seen what’s inside whenever he takes a moment to open it.

He always snaps it shut within a few seconds. He should look away but he doesn’t, he remains standing behind as Scho prise it open and takes out a picture. It’s a pair of young girls, no older than ten, huddled together as they smile sweetly at the camera. He tucks the picture under another one, this one shows a beautiful woman with wavy, dark hair and dark eyes offering the camera a sombre look. He flips it over and in graceful handwriting, a message reads _come back to us_ with a kiss just under the words. 

“Who's that?” Blake asks, curiosity and, admittedly, jealousy getting the better of him. 

Scho starts as he shoves the pictures back into the metal tin, snaps it shut and looks up at Blake. 

“Blake, what…” he says, shielding his eyes from the sun with his bandaged hand, “I thought you were with your brother.”

“I was, he’s gone to get us food and I came to check on you,” he replies, his eyes flit down to the tin Scho clutches against his chest, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He bites his lip, “who are those in your pictures then?”

Scho looks away, a moment passes before he answers, “my, uh, my wife and our daughters.”

Blake’s world stutters to a stop. He tenses, “you’re...you’re married?”

Scho doesn’t answer. He stuffs the tin back into his front breast pocket. Blake grimaces as he walks around the tree so he’s standing in front of Scho who is avoiding his gaze. He kneels down, places his hands on Scho’s shoulder and forces him to look at him. 

“Schofield,” he says, trying to keep himself together, “are you bloody married?”

Scho remains quiet and Blake is five seconds from shaking an answer out of him when a smile pulls at Scho’s lips. 

“Oh, you fucker, you’re having me on,” Blake says, imprinting the loveliness of Scho’s playful smile to memory. He slaps his arm and Scho laughs, a silky laugh that invites butterflies into his stomach. “You bastard, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“That was the point,” Scho says with a smirk, “that’s what you get for being nosy.”

“I didn’t mean to **—** shut up,” Blake glances away as he rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed, “sorry. Who are they then?”

Scho leans his head back on the bark, his eyes flutter shut. In the sunlight, Blake realises Scho’s wavy hair is actually closer to caramel than dark brown. It’s dried since their jump into the river and Blake wants to card his fingers through it.

Scho says, “the girls are my nieces and the woman is their mother, Marion, my older sister.”

Blake knows little about Scho’s family back home, he doesn’t talk about them and when he does it’s vague comments. Scho knows everything about Blake’s family at this point; about Joe, about Myrtle, their bouncy St Bernard, about springtime in the orchard, about his mother’s tasty pies and his grandfather’s obsession with birdwatching. Blake managed to stitch together some fuzzy picture of Scho’s family. His parents weren’t around, whether dead or distanced is unclear, there was an older sibling and perhaps an annoying cousin who knicked five bob off him.

“So, you’re an uncle,” Blake says. "Tell me more." 

He smiles at the idea of Scho running after a pair of giggling girls and scooping them up when he catches them. He shuffles around on the grass so he’s sitting with his elbows on his knees. He’s hungry for any knowledge of Scho’s life back in England. 

“What do you want to know?” Scho says, eyes still closed.

Blake leans back on his hands, he can’t look away from Scho. He looks gorgeous in the sunlight.

“Anything,” he says, “talk to me.”

“Cora and Charlotte just turned eight in February, they’re identical twins. You can only tell them apart by the little mole on Cora’s cheek,” Scho says, his lips quirk up, “Charlotte found out my sister’s a suffragette, she asked to be a member for her birthday and she threw a fit when Marion said no.”

Blake blinks in surprise, “your sister’s a suffragette?”

Scho hums as confirmation. “She joined after her husband died in Verdun. I think she was lonely. When she writes to me she doesn’t stop talking about the importance of sisterhood and that she hopes the army cares about brotherhood. It pretends to, I tell her.”

A warm breeze passes by. Blake glances up at the clear sky. He can’t look at Scho when he asks, “do you want to get married? A wife, kids, the whole malarkey. Don’t you want that?”

Sometimes he feels like he’s robbing Scho of that kind future. He can’t give him any of it and he worries Scho will wake up one day and decides he does want that.

“No,” Scho answers with such ease and finality it makes him smile. 

“Really?” Blake asks because he's a masochist. 

A robin settles in the branches above them. 

“Really. I mean, I did want to before the war, I thought I would but then the war changed everything didn’t it?” 

“I do,” Blake whispers, looking at Scho, “if I could, I would.”

“What?”

"You," he licks his lips, feeling brave, “if I could marry you, I would...in a heartbeat.”

Scho's eyes snap open and Blake's admission hangs in the air. In the bright morning light, Scho’s eyes look bluer than ever. Silence stretches out between them. 

Finally, Scho speaks, "it’s no use thinking about what could be. It’s better not to think about it all."

“No,” Blake murmurs, his gaze flitting to the grass and he starts pulling at it with one hand. “But it’s nice to dream, isn’t it?”

Blake understands why Scho only ever sees one way but life would be bleaker than it already is without a touch of daydreaming. You see one way and you’re stuck that way and Blake doesn’t want to be stuck in this war, haunted by it even after it ends. 

Blake stops leaning back on his hands to sit up properly. He looks out at the clearing station in the distance. No one can really see them back here. He slides one of the gold rings off his middle finger and takes a hold of Scho’s hand, the one that isn’t bandaged. Scho’s hands are a little bigger than his so Blake’s ring would fit better on his pinky. 

“For the sake of dreaming...in another life, in another time,” he says, sliding the ring on, “I would marry you, William Schofield. A house, kids, the whole malarkey.”

When it’s on he presses a quick kiss to the back of Scho’s hand and offers Scho the cheekiest smile he can muster. He’s delighted to see Scho’s face has gone tomato red. 

“You’ve gone mad,” Scho says frowning and pulling his hand back but his ever reddening cheeks tell another story.

Blake grins, “how’d you think I’ve survived this long?” 

“Blind luck like me?”

Blake scoffs, then schools his face into a serious expression, “Scho, I know you don’t like daydreaming but I would. Today proved there’s no one else for me. You’re it. I just want you to know that.”

It looks like Scho is about to protest, probably to point out the hopelessness of their situation but to his surprise Scho just nods and says, “okay.”

Blake’s grin returns. “Okay? Sounds like you’re accepting my would-be proposal.”

Scho rolls his eyes and closes them. He settles back against the tree with a light grunt. Blake smiles to himself as he lies down on the cool grass. He locks his fingers together and places them under his head. They stay like that for a while, Scho snoozing against the tree, Blake watching the clouds. 

Soon, Blake breaks the silence, “I think my brother knows.”

“Knows what?” Scho mumbles, half-asleep. 

“About me,” Blake says with a slow lick of his lips, “that I don’t fancy girls.”

Scho says, “how?”

“He, uh, he kind of caught me in a very compromising position with one of the lads in the village a few years ago? I was scared to death he’d tell our mum but he didn’t, he didn’t tell anyone, he just pulled me aside and told me to be careful.”

“Does he know about us?"

"No,” Blake replies but he will once he spots Blake’s ring on Scho. 

If Scho is the bravest person Blake has ever met then Joe is the smartest. It was his father’s before he passed away, his brother understands the significance of it and when he sees it on Scho he’ll know they are together the way a husband and wife are together. 

“No but I'm sure he knows I fancy you," Blake explains, "we write to each other when we can, and I might have mentioned you a few too many times? I actually think he knew I fancied you before I did." A thought occurs, "when did you know that you fancied me?"

"I didn't," Scho says, "not until you kissed me that night we were on watch in the trenches."

Blake smiles at the memory. It had been so cold that night, cold and dark and Scho had offered his coat when he saw Blake shivering. Blake had leant over his rifle and taken a kiss instead.

Scho says, “I don’t know why you think I’m the brave one. I’m not. I’m just trying to survive. Kissing me like that is far braver than anything I could ever do.”

Something in Blake’s chest swells. He’s never been called brave. Funny, useless, a pain in the arse, a baby, a thousand other things but not brave. He doesn’t know what to say in reply so he just says, "I thought you were going to shoot me."

Scho chuckles, "so did I. I'm glad I didn't though.” 

Blake laughs. The volume of it startles the robin in the tree but it remains perched on the branch, watching the two soldiers with interest. They fall silent again. Blake places an arm over his eyes and he’s just close to finally, mercifully sleeping when someone kicks his leg. 

He startles awake, for a split second he’s certain the Germans in that hellish town have found them but when he opens his eyes he finds it’s his older brother. Blake and Schofield stare up at him. He drops a small, wooden basket between them.

Blake glances up at his brother, “we having a picnic?”

“That is courtesy of the Major,” Joe says, “as a thank you for calling off the attack. Except the wine, that one’s mine, I’ve been saving it up for a special occasion but I figured saving sixteen hundred men from a massacre qualifies don’t you think, little brother?”

“I’m the same height as you,” Blake grumbles. 

He sits up and starts rummaging through the small basket. His stomach grumbles as he eyes the assortment of treats. A bag of strawberries, a few rolls of bread - _fresh_ bread, dried sausages wrapped in spindly rope and an unopened bottle of red wine. 

He grabs the rolls of bread and passes one to Scho. They bite into it at the same time. Blake groans. 

“Oh my God, fresh bread,” he says, glancing up at his brother whose smiling down at him, “I haven’t had fresh bread in nearly a year! Here **—** ” he picks up the last roll and throws it up to Joe. “Have some.”

Joe catches it, “are you sure?”

“Yes, yes,” Blake nods as he takes off another scrumptious bite. “Sit with us, let’s eat.”

Joe twirls the roll in his hand and shakes his head, “I can’t, I have to make sure all the casualties are seen to but I’ll be back later and we can have some of that wine.” His green gaze skips to Scho and returns to Blake, “we have a fair few things to catch up on, don’t you think?”

Blake’s breath hitches. Joe definitely knows. He swallows down some of the bread before he says, “we do.”

Scho leans forward and opens up the bag of strawberries, tossing a few into his mouth and closing his eyes at their taste. Some of the red juice drips down his chin, without thinking, Blake reaches a hand out and wipes the juice off his chin. Scho freezes, staring at him with wide eyes and Blake is confused for a second before he remembers Joe is there. He quickly pulls his hand away and glances up at Joe, dread settling in his stomach.

To his stark surprise, Joe is smiling, he says, “I’ll talk to the Major about getting you two back to the Eighth. I reckon it won’t be for another few days.”

“Uh, thanks,” Blake says, his cheeks warming. 

Joe casts them one last smile before he walks off, biting into the bread. Blake watches him until he’s back in the clearing station, commanding wounded soldiers left and right. 

When he turns to Scho he says, “so...Joe knows about us.”

“Will he say anything?” Scho asks, glancing back at the camp, worry presses his mouth into a fine line, “maybe we should talk to him **—** ”

“We will when he gets back, but there’s nothing to worry about,” Blake assures him, “he won’t say anything, I think…” he remembers Joe’s earnest smile, “I think he’s happy for me.” He grins despite himself, “happy for us.”

Scho holds the strawberry he just picked up before his lips, “Oh.”

Blake snatches it out of his hand and chucks into his mouth. 

“Oi!” Scho protests and Blake laughs as he chews. It’s so sweet and juicy he could cry. 

“Too slow,” he says, sticking his tongue out at him. 

Scho’s eyes narrow and in a flash, he tackles Blake down onto the grass. Blake yelps when Scho lands on top of him. He opens his legs to let Scho settle between them as their eyes meet. Blake swallows as he thinks, _yes, this is it._ Scho is it for him. There can never be anybody else. He wants to tell him that again but with Scho looking at him like that, like there can never be anyone else for him either, the words escape him. 

Blake cups his face with both hands and Scho tenses. He says, “we can’t, someone might see.”

“The grass is tall enough to hide us if we stay low,” Blake says.

Scho relaxes. Blake smiles, he leaves one hand on Scho’s cheek and reaches out with the other to grab a strawberry from the basket. He slips one into Scho’s mouth who eats it with a faint smile. 

“It feels like a dream doesn’t it?” Blake says. 

“What does?” Scho asks, pressing his cheek into Blake’s hand.

“Getting here,” he says, “it feels like a dream.”

Scho huffs, bracing his elbow beside Blake’s head. “More like a nightmare.”

“It’s over now.”

Scho glances away, “when I finally got to Mackenzie and he called off the attack he said something to me.”

“What?”

“There’s only one way this war ends,” Scho says, gazing back down at him, “last man standing.”

Blake stares up at him, letting the words sink in. Last man standing. If that’s true, he reckons that last man would be Schofield. He has this brand of resilience that will carry him through anything. It’s one of the many things Blake admires about him. 

He says, “I hope that’s not true.”

“Hope is a dangerous thing.”

Blake frowns, “something else Mackenzie said?”

Scho nods. 

“The war’s never gonna end with that kind of attitude,” he snorts, “and this guy’s a colonel?”

“I think he’s just being realistic.”

“Okay, realistically, I reckon you’ll get a medal for delivering that message.”

“I don’t want medals,” Scho sighs like Blake doesn’t get it, “I want you.”

Blake frowns, a little confused. He makes sure his next words are gentle as he strokes Scho’s cheek. “You have me.”

Scho looks conflicted, like he’s about to say something instead he presses his thumb into Blake's bottom lip. Blake licks it and Scho draws in a sharp breath. He leans down, brushes their lips together ever so lightly and Blake's body hums in response. He does it again and again and **—**

" _Will_ ," Blake groans against his mouth, becoming impatient. 

"Tommy," Scho whispers before he kisses him, properly this time, all soft heat and sweetness. 

Scho interwines their fingers together and presses their hands into the grass. People think Scho is quiet and a bit of a loner and he is but beneath that timid exterior is deep, blistering passion. To have that passion focused solely on you is to fall into the sun. Blake has only kissed a handful of people but he can say without a doubt, Scho is the best kisser out of all them. Perhaps it’s because he’s in love with him or Scho is just that good. Blake reckons it’s both.

The grass sways gently in the wind, the sun smothers them in warmth and his heart appears in his chest again, beating wildly and he doesn’t feel like a hollowed out body anymore. He feels filled to the brim with light, bursting at the seams with it. When Scho slips a hand under his shirt the cold metal of the ring on his pinky has Blake quivering and he’s convinced he is only moments from becoming a supernova. 

When they pull away, Scho says, “you taste like strawberries and river water.”

Blake can’t help but laugh, “so do you.”

Scho licks his kiss-swollen lips, “I like it.”

Blake cups Scho’s face with both hands and presses a kiss on his forehead. Scho lets out a shuddering breath.

“Sleep,” Blake whispers to him, “I know you’re tired.”

“You need to sleep too,” Scho drops his head on Blake’s shoulder, a quiet moment passes before he says, “you’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I'll always be here,” he says it like it’s a plain fact because it is.

The sky is blue, two plus two is four, water is wet, Thomas Blake belongs at William Schofield’s side.

Scho lets go of Blake’s hands and lies down next to him with a long sigh. He wants to snuggle close to him, lay his head on his chest and twine their hands together but he can’t in case someone comes looking for them. So, he leans up onto his elbow and kisses Scho’s cheek before he lies back down. 

Scho wears the faintest smile as his eyes flutter shut. Up in the tree, the robin flutters away. Blake beams and closes his eyes.

Soon, sleep takes him too and in his dream, Scho meets him in the orchard, handsome as ever, dressed in beige civvies and they kiss, laughing into each other’s mouths, as cherry blossoms descend all around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the ending they deserved idc idc idc. little facts, robins represent new beginnings and good luck (so scho and blake will survive the war imo i won't accept any other outcome), leftenant is the archaic form of lieutenant brits used during/pre-ww1, huns was a derogatory nickname for germans by british soldiers in ww1, 'geordie' is someone from the northern east part of england, 'brummie' is someone from birmingham in england. and lbr guys, canon is optional okay? the only women and children i'll allow in scho's life is a sister and nieces okay? aaaand thank you for reading!


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